Trade
by himawarixxsandz
Summary: AU Itachi survived the battle between him and sasuke by millimeters, and sasuke already knows the truth from madara...kind of a brother bonding fic not meant to be uchihacest AT ALL DISCONTINUED
1. Bad Dream

I'd long ago left behind the concept of dreams and nightmares. There was nothing but darkness when I slept, and if my mind happened to treat me to a blur of images, it was nothing but my subconscious toying with me.

But I was beginning to re-question that, for this could only mean I was having a severe nightmare—hopefully the cause of listening to Karin and Suigetsu bicker too much.

If only.

I wanted to break something. I wanted this building that I was in to collapse and kill me. I wanted Madara Uchiha to bash his head into a bloody mess against a stone wall and die.

I wanted anything other than to go to the place my feet were mindlessly walking me toward.

Yes. I did believe everything the oldest living Uchiha had told me a mere three days ago. And because of that truth, I hated my brother even more.

So close. The lifeline he'd accidentally hung on to was shorter than half a millimeter, and yet he'd lived anyway. Half his plans for me—according to Madara—wouldn't work unless he'd died, but there were ways to fix that. Easy ways, that for some reason, Madara hadn't thought of when his own brother was still alive. And apparently, he hadn't thought of them in the present, either.

But I had.

My brother couldn't do anything. He did everything for me, but he couldn't even fucking _die_ already.

No. That wasn't why I was so angry my nails bled into my palms. The rational part of my mind knew perfectly well that I was furious at Konoha, my clan, and myself. Itachi was the last person I was angry at, in truth.

But blaming him was so much easier.

Although I was most irritated with Madara. For what he'd said right after telling me Itachi had somehow survived and was being nursed back by Akatsuki—even though his wounds would take over a month to heal, if at all.

"You're in Akatsuki's headquarters. The same part of it as Itachi is in. You can kill him if you want. Kisame and Zetsu are on guard, but you could get rid of them yourself, couldn't you? His life is yours now, Sasuke. Your choice."

I must have gone crazy. If I'd retained any sanity, Itachi wouldn't be breathing right now and I wouldn't have to see him.

It'd been three days. Three days since those supposed-to-be last words. They'd played over and over in my mind, depriving me of the sleep I needed.

Three days was enough for me to heal—even without Orochimaru inside of me anymore. Itachi was said to still be unconscious—seeing him would be easier this way.

As foretold, Kisame and Zetsu were standing on either sides of the door. My brother's partner grinned widely. "Sorry, Sasuke. No can do. Your little friends from Konoha have done some damage to our family, so we'd really rather not lose another member."

I merely looked at them. With a small sigh, I slowly closed my eyes. I didn't even feel the air move or hear a rustle. When my eyes reopened, mere seconds later, Suigetsu was sword-to-sword with Kisame; Zetsu was attempting to block a punch from Juugo, and Karin was holding the door open for me.

"Don't kill them," I said carelessly, as I walked through the doorway. The door swung to a close neatly behind me.

I'd faced death plenty of times before, and once I was a pace away from his bed, I wanted dearly to face death once again.

My _darling_ older brother was shirtless, torso wrapped tightly with bandages, and strapped to the bed with a blanket. A tube was down his throat, and I couldn't begin to count the number of IVs stuck into him—most of them attached to the cloth over his eyes. The oxygen mask over his nose and mouth fogged steadily with his breathing. His hair splayed out over the pillow.

I needed to puke.

This was what I must have looked like after the Chunin Exams.

I'd never before hated our resemblance as I did now.

If one were hearing my current thoughts, they'd most definitely make the idiotic assumption of "knowing" that I hated my brother and our resemblance because he was alive—because I couldn't kill him.

But that was so wrong. So wrong, because I didn't hate him for living, even after everything he did. I hated him _because_ of everything he did. I hated him for not telling me. Thinking that I'd be better off ignorant and not knowing, but safe in Konoha was an immense mistake. Why couldn't he have seen how much _better_ I'd have been if he'd taken me with him? How badly did he know me?

I snorted softly to myself as I took the chair at his bedside. I really shouldn't be one to talk about knowing and not knowing people. He might have not known me very well, but I hadn't known him _at all_.

Why couldn't he have died? Died, so I could mourn his memory and my mistake of not knowing in peace? Died, so I wouldn't have to face him, knowing everything and knowing that I was facing the man that loved me more than my parents and my self-proclaimed _friends_—I spat the word in my head—ever would and ever had?

For a moment, I wished Naruto had been here to witness Madara's telling of my brother's tale. His look of shock and disbelief would have been greater than mine, and worse but best of all: he wouldn't have been able to deny it. To watch him find out that his precious Konoha wasn't as honorable as he thought, and that a renegade ninja had done more for the village than the elders ever had.

The gurgle of one of his many IV stands brought me back suddenly.

I stared at the unconscious form. A thousand different things were bubbling in my throat, waiting to be said, shouted, murmured, and sobbed.

I couldn't decide which to do first.

There weren't any more sounds coming from the doors, which obviously meant that Kisame, Zetsu and my team were all dead, or that they'd left.

I took it to be the latter.

I forced my eyes back to him.

I understood what Madara meant. Right now, all I needed to do was pull out my sword and stab him. No, maybe not even that. A chidori to the chest. Pulling out one of those IVs or tubes. Taking off that oxygen mask. Any of those would suffice in killing him.

The steady beeping of his heart monitor sounded like a time bomb. Counting down the seconds until he would inevitably wake. I had no idea what in hell I was supposed to say to him. Everything that was a possible statement ran through my head, and I quickly classified all of them as pathetic.

His scratched Konoha head protector was folded on the table. I traced the fissure line through the symbol gingerly. I was the one who'd done the ultimate action that signified his broken bond with Konoha.

And killing my brother's heart.

"I hate you," I whispered, knowing perfectly well that he couldn't hear me. "You should have let me die. Or died when you were supposed to. Either is fine."

My eyes had been hooded this entire time. The only reason I could bear looking at him was because I couldn't see his eyes. Eyes that he'd meant to give to me. Eyes that would one day only be able to see darkness.

I stared at him a bit longer, before returning to my feet and leaving.

* * *

Once Sasuke had left, Itachi's fingers shifted slightly, gripping the mattress.

The cloth over his eyes was damp.

* * *

_A/N: Do you think Sasuke is OOC in this? Is Itachi? I really need to know for continuing this fic…..tell me in the reviews?_


	2. Everything

For the next four days, all I did was breathe, eat, sleep and watch him.

Karin thought I'd gone mad. Juugo had begun to warily stalk me. Suigetsu had carelessly mentioned how the greatest of ninjas were the ones prone to insanity.

Madara had taken to telling me irritating stories of "the old days" when his brother had still been alive. It was as though someone had paid him to lecture me about bonding with my _darling_ brother.

My routine had given me an almost robotic quality. I woke up at sunrise, breakfasted, walked down to his room and sat there until lunch. After lunch, I walked down to his room and sat there until dinner. Following dinner, I walked down to his room and sat there until Madara came in to administer the nightly round of sedatives.

By that fourth day, I'd had enough.

"If you continue to sedate him, when is he going to wake up?" I narrowed my eyes at the oldest member of my clan. My team turned their eyes toward him as well.

"Looks like someone misses their big brother," Kisame grinned. Suigetsu threw a fork at him. Kisame caught it easily between two fingers. "And it looks like we'll have to train you more—make sure you don't embarrass the name of Kirigakure."

Suigetsu snorted, swinging his sword over his shoulder and heading out the door.

"No more sedatives," I directed at Madara.

"He'll be in pain when he wakes up."

"I don't care."

"Even if he's screaming?"

"I don't care."

"Even if he's shrieking?"

"Even if."

"Even if he's crying and sobbing in agony?" Madara wheedled.

I glared.

"And people say us Akatsuki got no hearts," Kisame smirked.

"No more sedatives," I repeated.

Madara sighed behind his mask. "Since when did the Uchiha spoil their young?"

My hand twitched for my sword.

* * *

I made my way back to his room.

The lack of sedatives wouldn't take effect until at least two days. Which meant another two days of watching and waiting. Waiting for what, though?—my mind wondered.

Half of me expected Madara to ignore my request and march into the room anyway when the clock struck noon—the scheduled time for the midday round of sedatives and other stilling medicines.

Thankfully, he didn't.

I sighed and closed my eyes again, leaning back in the chair.

The same time I made to straighten, a tiny rustling came from the bed.

My eyes flew open.

His hand—the one closest to me—was fisting the mattress sheet.

But, no. That wasn't supposed to be possible. The sedatives should still have a hold on him. The corners of my mouth turned upward bitterly. When had he ever been considered the norm? It was fitting that even the strongest sedatives the Akatsuki could provide—which is saying something—weren't enough to claim Itachi Uchiha.

Though…if the sedatives had only…sedated and not put him to sleep…did that mean he'd heard what I'd said on that first day? And the days that followed? The maniac whispers of frustration that I'd relented to were only meant for unhearing ears. Everything that had come from my mouth in this room was no more meaningful than an angry and upset child telling his parents how much he hated them.

But he'd heard.

I stood up, and stepped forward until the edge of the bed was cutting into my pants and his bare arm against my waist. "You've been awake all this time, haven't you?"

"Caught me, Sasuke." His voice was barely more than a whisper. But with the tone of his voice, he could have been whispering to me about ghost stories during a summer night or about a secret I'd confided in him with.

When we were children, of course. Things like that were impossible now.

"I've told Madara not to give you any more sedatives," I said colorlessly.

"Ah." The oxygen mask gave his voice an echoing sort of hollowness. The tube down his throat had been removed only a day ago.

I meant to retreat back to the chair, but my feet had become one with the floor.

"You sound well. Are you all right?"

Idiot. I had an idiot for a brother—a complete imbecile.

Was I all right? _Was I all right? _

He was the one who'd been betrayed by the village he'd loved most; had to murder his own clan, still believing they were honorable and he, disgusting; killed his best friend to get the power in order to do that; ran away from the village he still loved; joined an organization he hated for that village; taken drugs to keep himself alive; and done most of all of this for what?

Me. One person.

Lived and done everything for another person.

_And he had the audacity to ask if __**I**__ was all right?_

"No."

"I see," he murmured. Beneath the oxygen mask, his lips open slightly, and his teeth dug into the skin. His fist tightened with the sheets.

My eyebrows pulled low. He still insisted on this? On hiding everything from me—hiding his pain?

We'd see how long he could keep that up. Pain didn't deter healing, so he'd be fine. I was going to push him to the breaking point.

"Get some sleep," I said tonelessly, turning for the door.

Madara was leaning against the wall beside the double doors. "That was nice," he said sarcastically.

"No sedatives, Madara."

* * *

Itachi smiled into the oxygen mask.

His little brother had talked to him.


	3. Punishment

This. Was. All his fault.

It was his fault I hadn't been able to get an ounce of sleep, and ended up spending the entire morning—and was bound to spend the entire day—walking around dead on my feet. I couldn't even join Suigetsu and Juugo for the morning spar—only watch them grudgingly.

I practically ground my feet into the floor as I headed down the all-too-familiar hallway. This time, bringing Suigetsu and Karin with me. The task I had at hand was too delicate for Juugo. If he cracked while I asked him to complete it, I would be complicating things far worse than they needed to be. Best to leave him with Madara.

The beginning pangs of a headache echoed through my head as we drew in toward the door. I closed my eyes, feeling Suigetsu and Karin flank me.

"Move," I sighed irritably.

Kisame's voice was sardonic as always. "Brought guests this time, huh?"

I opened my eyes reluctantly. Looking at unnecessary irritations. It was too early for this.

Karin's hand shifted to her hip, and she moved her weight from foot to foot. "Sasuke wants to see his brother and just happens to bring us along for a change. How hard is that to believe? He has a larger claim on him that you do."

"Blood _is_ thicker than water," Suigetsu grinned toothily. "We should know, eh?"

Kisame matched Suigetsu's sharp-toothed grin. "Well. Then maybe I feel like staying and watching the brothers bond. Is _that_ so hard to believe?"

"There isn't anything to watch," I said stoically.

"Couldn't hurt to—" Karin aimed for Suigetsu's head, only for her fist to once again come in contact with water.

"God, I HATE you," she hissed, shaking the water from her hand.

Suigetsu's head reformed, his expression smirking. "Well? Ya gon' let us in, or is this gonna get a little ugly? Like Karin," he muttered, snickering beneath his breath.

That earned him another useless punch.

Kisame had watched this exchange rather amusedly. "If only your brain was half as big as that sword," he directed at Suigetsu with no more sternness than a frolicking child.

I was dead on my feet, irritated, head pulsing, and I wanted in. Now.

I brushed past Kisame, and opened the door. Suigetsu and Karin didn't cease their bickering, but at least Kisame didn't follow us.

However, the moment those two were before the bed, their arguing mouths dropped open, and it was cease-fire.

It was all I could do to keep my own mouth closed.

He'd kicked the blankets to the floor, his black panted legs messily entangled with the bandages that had loosened in his thrashing. Despite all the hookups and IVs, he'd managed to move from his frozen position onto his side and curl in on himself slightly. The sheets around him were fisted into his hands. There were scratches on his arms and the bandages around his torso—self-inflicted, no doubt—and the covering around his eyes was precariously hanging on. His panting and muted gasping wasn't close to effectively disguised—the oxygen mask had somehow managed to hold on.

"What the fuck happened?" Suigetsu said bluntly.

Karin frowned at the sight. "It's the lack of sedatives."

"You've really done it now, Sasuke," Suigetsu whistled.

The heart monitor's beeping was spiraling out of control. His heart rate had increased tenfold, so that it was no longer the calm ticking of a time bomb.

"Can you hear me?" My voice was brisk, business-like.

"Of course," the edges of his mouth turned upward slightly. How dare he smile when the pain was threaded through every fiber of his voice? When his voice shook to keep quiet from screaming?

"Did you sleep?" I asked.

He didn't answer, but his half-smile never left. "Could you sleep?" I changed the wording. There was a difference between the two.

No response still.

"Karin, Suigetsu," I ordered. "Take off the IVs, and the hookups, the bandages. Everything. The oxygen mask, included. Everything except the eyes. Sit him up, too."

They looked at me blankly. "Now," I added stonily.

They continued to look at me blankly. "Do you speak Japanese? Everything. Off. Unplugged. The heart monitor comes off, too. Everything except the eyes and what is on them."

Karin was the first to recompose. "But there's a reason th—"

"You heard me, Karin. I want everything—save for the eyes—off."

Suigetsu was next. "How're we gonna put it—"

"One of you will get Madara. Easy. Now—off."

They hesitated, exchanging wary glances when—

"I think you should do as he says."

Three hearts stopped. Only one continued.

Karin and Suigetsu looked as though they'd just been sentenced to marry each other, at the sound of the soft, strained voice.

I ignored my own shock, and focused on restarting my heart.

I could feel the both of them having a silent conversation between each other as they commenced to begin their task. The questions floating to and fro were obvious but ones I didn't want to face or answer.

_Why can't you do it yourself?_ I saw in Karin's frown.

_Is this all he brought us for? _I caught in Suigetsu's disgruntled glare.

And the one both of them shared. _Why does he want us to leave the eyes?_

Whenever one particularly stubborn IV came off, I blocked the sound of his sharp intake of breath—it was a reluctant sound, and it was clear that he was trying to repress all sounds of distress, but even the greatest of shinobi had their limits.

To unwrap the bandages on his torso, Suigetsu had to hold him into a sitting position, since he'd fall immediately backward if not. Karin unwound the cloths, her hands becoming stained as she did. I stepped closer to observe.

The skin was singed, red and raw—healing at an alarmingly slow rate—but there were newly inflicted wounds that I took was from the scratching.

I reached out lazily and pressed my fingers into the brunt of the wound.

The intake of breath was so sharp that it was almost a whimper. I withdrew my hand so quickly, the action was blurred and my elbow felt as though I'd twisted it. The almost-whimper had caught me unguarded, and the withdrawal was almost a reflex.

Karin and Suigetsu were staring at me oddly. I didn't dare look at them.

"Get Madara," I spoke to Karin without looking at her. My eyes were still on his covered ones. "Tell him to bring the sedatives."

Her eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. "Um…okay." She wheeled around, and the door snapped shut after her.

"You sound tired, Sasuke."

My brow knitted together. "What's the reason for the scratches?"

"You'd have to ask Madara. I've never been very good with medicine."

Every syllable that passed through his lips was etched with stubbornly hidden pain and weariness—he seemed determined to keep his voice unburdened.

Unburdened. That was the key word with him, wasn't it? Always taking everyone's burdens on himself—the clan's, Konoha's, Akatsuki's, his own, mine—and doing it in a way that no one noticed he had any troubles at all.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No. I guess it doesn't."

Before my patience could run out once again, Suigetsu glanced around my head, signaling that Karin and Madara were back.

Madara was holding a tray laden with tiny bottles and phials and injectors.

"No sedatives," I said to him.

Karin raised her hands incredulously. "What the hell? You told me to tell him to get the sedatives!"

"I changed my mind."

"Why did I almost expect that?" Madara asked wryly. "I was just brought here to re-plug everything that you three took out."

"No," I corrected. "You're here to teach these two _how_ to re-plug everything."

Suigetsu and Karin stared daggers into the back of my head.

"You're fucking kidding me!"

"This is ridiculous, Sasuke!"

I ignored them.

* * *

Itachi knew that this wasn't even half the pain he deserved.

He also knew Sasuke was only getting started.

If only he knew how Sasuke was going to end it.


	4. Eye of the Heart

And that was how things continued for another week.

I'd bring Karin and Suigetsu with me down to him, and they'd unwrap and unplug all the IVs, hookups and bandages, and I'd watch. Madara had stayed true to his word in both no sedatives and teaching Suigetsu and Karin how to re-plug everything.

They'd been quick to learn, despite their protests.

Although, having been in contact with my brother seemed to have given the both of them some sort of sense that they could advise me what and what not to do with him.

For example, lunch on the third day after that first one.

"You know, Sasuke," Karin pressed the edges of the chopsticks against her upper lip in a pondering expression, "If you keep taking and putting back on Itachi's bandages, he's not going to heal."

I ignored her.

And then sparring during late evening the next day.

"How much longer do I have to fucking take off Itachi's hookups and put them back on?" Suigetsu whined. "Granted, he looks 'xactly like you, but having my hands on his body isn't the same."

I threw a kunai at his direction before ignoring him.

But that wasn't all I had to worry about.

The Konoha gang was staved off at the moment, due to the fact that they had useless talents and didn't know Itachi was still alive—and probably thought I'd come running back through a field of flowers into their arms some time soon.

However, Madara had apparently had enough rest and relaxation and wanted to get back to business. He needed extra hands—rather, feet and eyes—for searching for the Eight Tailed Beast.

I had three pairs of each—well, four, if it included me.

It was well and good. I didn't care what Karin, Suigetsu, or Juugo did during the hours I had no use for them if they were back by the time I needed them for his unplugging and unwrapping.

Unfortunately, about halfway into that following week, I happened across a dead end.

"Where's Karin?" I demanded of Madara.

"Scouting."

I felt the vein in my forehead throb. "Suigetsu."

"Scouting."

I was getting desperate. "Juugo."

"Scouting."

"Zetsu." I must be really desperate to be this insane.

"Guarding."

"Kisame." I knew the answer before it was said.

"Spying."

"Why are we the only ones in here?" My voice rose slightly, and the lamps above our heads suddenly looked very appealing to use to kill the man before me. Perhaps they'd fall down on us and kill us both.

"We aren't."

In spite of myself, my ears perked up hopefully.

"Itachi's still here, too."

Screw hope.

"Unplug and unwrap him," I said, knowing full well the response I'd get.

"Anything I can do, you can do just as well." And I swore he was grinning behind that damned mask. He ruffled my hair in a way that made me want to punch him, and then traipsed away brightly. "You just don't want to touch him," he called back. "And how come you haven't taken off his eye covers? I think they're about healed. Great news, huh?"

Dignity, composure, and maturity would just have to wait. I chucked a kunai and a handful of shuriken toward the back of his head just for the sake of having something to throw at him. He caught them all on his fingertips, of course.

My teeth ground together, as I stalked toward his room.

I slammed the door closed after I entered and dragged the chair, its legs screeching on the floor, beside the bed.

By now, I was perfectly used to seeing him curled in on himself, tangled in blankets and IVs, scratches—Madara had said this was because the medicine set in the IVs caused the feeling of internal irritation (the sort of itch that bothers you to your very core and just wouldn't go away)—and perspiration.

As I stood up to get a closer look, my eyes narrowed at his hair—it was damper than usual with sweat.

"Who are you angry at, Sasuke?"

He always did this. Every time I'd come in, he wouldn't acknowledge Karin or Suigetsu, or even Juugo—not even Madara—he'd only ask me some question that wasn't altogether random, but something that no one was supposed to notice. He was blindfolded, and I barely made any sound, how was it that he saw everything?

"You."

I expected he was going to do the usual and half smile, or give some sort of voiced affirmation he heard me, or most likely just nod and drop it. I didn't expect for him to say what he did.

"I know."

He wasn't smiling. His voice wasn't indifferently casual as it always was. It was as serious as the words he'd said to me—the words I'd thought would be the last he'd ever say to me. But the thing was, even when he was being dead on serious, he still said things with a…an undeserved kindness that made it seem not so horrible or serious at all. At least, if he was doing it truthfully it did.

When I didn't respond, I swore I heard him sigh slightly. But I wasn't able to be sure if it was a sigh, or just a very soft moan, considering that his body shuddered and curled in further, fingernails grating at arms.

"Sit up," I said abruptly.

He didn't sit, but his head shifted toward my direction.

"Sit up," I ordered again. "Sit up. Now. Do it."

After about three seconds of shocked silence, he grabbed hold of the mattress and pushed himself up like a wounded animal. His arms shook slightly, and the tubes moved with him, almost hindering his actions.

I would've demanded that he take off his hookups and bandages, but then he'd have to remove his blindfold, and that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

It was the lesser of two evils, I decided, and reached out.

The IVs on his torso went off first. His body was feverish, too warm, and the skin and bandages were damp with sweat, and specks of blood—fresh blood. The oxygen mask was next. I pulled it off with some difficulty, as the thing was attached to his face securely. His face was feverish as well, the perspiration beaded on the bridge of his nose.

As I undid the wraps around his main wound—the one on his lower abdomen—I observed that it'd healed relatively. I knew that Karin was right in saying it wouldn't heal as quickly if I kept undoing and redoing the bandages. But who said I wanted it to heal swiftly?

"How does it look?" Yet another surprise. His voice was timid, though it somehow managed to retain the Itachi-like quality.

I was about to ignore the question, tossing it off with all the other ones he'd asked me. But there was one thing that kept me reeled in to his query, something that made it different from the others.

It was the first question that was concerned on himself.

"It's healing," I answered shortly. The half-smile twisted his mouth.

I stared at the smile—stared at his face—and I thought I would go mad. Again, the lesser of two evils. Madara surely wouldn't be happy about being bothered twice in a row today, I had time to kill, and besides, how harmful would this be?

"Take off the eye coverings," I told him.

And for the first time…

"No."

"What did you say?"

"They aren't coming off, Sasuke."

"Take them off."

"No."

His voice was purely stubborn, but there was an underlying edge to the reason for the hardheaded determination.

"Take them off, or I'm taking them off."

His mouth hung open slightly for about a second before he closed it. "Go ahead."

The phrase "empty threat" rang around in my head. My hand twitched at my side. The beginnings of that smile were starting to appear on his face. I decided to stop it before he confirmed to himself that I wasn't going to take the covering off myself.

The piece of cloth and the IVs that'd been attached to it were flung toward the floor, and my hand came into brief contact with strands of his hair—hair that thankfully covered his eyes and my line of sight into them.

But he lifted his head, and I knew that I was trapped. Unprepared. Uncalled for.

The eyes that I'd grown so used to seeing red, black and cold, were nothing but the same arsenic as mine. Only there was one remaining difference.

Now my eyes were the ones that were cold.

I'd killed my heart just to kill the man before me. I'd killed my heart without batting an eye to get that goal because I knew that the man before me had abandoned his own heart long ago.

Or at least I'd thought he did.

Because in reality, he'd tried to abandon and kill and lose his heart, but it insistently kept returning to him. His heart wouldn't go down without a fight.

Mine hadn't even protested.

Shadows clung in semi-circles beneath his eyes, evidence that he hadn't been able to get sufficient sleep due to the lack of sedatives.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. It had been nearly a decade since I'd been able to truly see him without the Sharingan, without wanting to kill him, without hating him.

Instead, I envied him.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

During the battle, Itachi had barely looked at Sasuke—truly saw him.

Now that he could…he didn't know whether to smile or shout.

His brother had grown so much.

But his brother had grown to look like him.

In both senses physical and emotional.


	5. Empty

This was a problem. A problem that I couldn't honestly say I'd never entertained, I'd just thought it would never arise, because the possibility of it arising was just…well…I'd simply pretended it would never happen.

Sasuke could look like me in terms of physicality until we were twins, for all I cared. But I refused to have him look like me from the eyes, to the way he held himself up, to the way he used his voice. That was the reason that I'd gone this far for him…so that he wouldn't be tainted by war as I'd had.

The ending result was the same, apparently. My little brother was as cold as I was, and he was going to witness me become sightless and useless.

Unless I could persuade him to take my eyes first…

Surely he wouldn't hesitate. It was a two-for. Kill me and gain the Mangekyou.

The only consolation was that I'd at least succeeded in removing his curse seal and Orochimaru. I didn't take kindly to having my younger brother defiled by not only the hands and mark of a pedophile, but having aforementioned pedophile inside of him.

My one regret was that I wasn't able to maim and kill the Sanin with my own hands.

Ah, well.

I contained the momentary spasm that racked my body, my eyes gave a longing sidelong glance at the sedatives on the side table just inches away—I had a feeling Madara put them there just to tease me since there was no other use for having them there.

Sasuke…he seemed to have lost weight. When? I didn't remember him looking malnourished during our battle…

These past few weeks, then? Were they not feeding him properly? Or…I smiled bitterly in my mind…was it the disgust of having me beneath the same roof? It would certainly be enough to cost him his appetite, I wouldn't argue about that.

He looked like he wanted to retch now, as he glared at me.

"You haven't slept." His voice struggled to keep from snarling.

Of course, I hadn't slept. Even with the sedatives, I hadn't slept—only fitfully, when Madara'd force-fed me sleeping pills. How was I supposed to sleep when everything had gone so disastrously wrong all because my body hadn't _died_? I'd been thinking of ways to end it with Sasuke as the cause, while simultaneously figuring a way to un-strap myself from the bed.

"Neither have you," I pointed out, indicating his tired eyes with my own.

His mouth tightened. "That's different."

"How?"

I believed that was the word that caused my brother to break.

"How," he repeated with a straight face. "How. How, _indeed. _How is it different between you losing sleep, and me losing sleep, you have to ask? Have the sedatives—or lack of them—driven you out of your mind? No. No, because, you were out of your mind to begin with!"

I'd been wondering when the rant would come.

"Look. At. Yourself," he roared.

I wisely said nothing.

"Do you need someone to give you a mirror? Tell you? Spell it out, word for word? Is it that hard to…comprehend?" The poker face was long gone now. "You lived with millimeters of life left, with absolutely no millimeter—half a millimeter, a sixteenth of any minute measurement—to spare. It's been nearly half a month and you aren't even closed to being as healed as someone could normally be in half a _week_."

Sasuke's eyes were narrowed, his body rigid, and he was actually beginning to pace throughout the room, in search of something to break.

"You lived your entire life for a village that isn't worth a damn, a clan that is so caught up in their own petty problems they didn't even notice yours, and…and a person who you couldn't even know for sure would amount to anything—would even survive his first decade of life."

After hearing that, it wasn't that I wouldn't respond—it was that I _couldn't_.

My eyes were twice their normal size, and I was as frozen as he was furious. I couldn't even feel the ever-present pain and irritations usually located in my battered body.

I couldn't argue with what he'd said. He was right. Right about Konoha, and Uchiha, but…but not entirely right about himself.

"I hate you," he muttered. "I hate you. I don't care what you did for me—I don't care that you loved me so much you couldn't kill me or any other bullshit. I hate you."

His collar was damp, tiny droplets clinging to the edge of his chin. "This is all your fault. If you were going to do something like this…couldn't you have at least done it right and _died_? Do you have any idea how much easier hearing all of that—the _truth_, and the fact that you didn't even _want_ me to hear it—would be if you were gone? Do you have a single clue about how much more I'd rather face the fact of never being able to truly know my brother and thank him, than to…than to have to look at you—knowing that…instead of you being vile and disgusting and unworthy of my time…that I'm the one that's vile and disgusting and unworthy of looking at someone like you?"

"Sasuke, no—"

"Why didn't you just take me with you?" He looked up, and his expression was unchanged—indifferent and apathetic—except for the twin streams running down his face. "That's why I hate you, you know. I wanted to hate you…and now I can't." He closed his eyes, turning away—he couldn't look at me, I supposed. "I killed my heart for the purpose you gave me—I gave it all up."

It was true. I was the one who'd made him like this. I was so hell-bent on making him strong, making sure that even when I was gone, no one would be able to hurt him, manipulate him—that that was precisely what'd happened.

No one was now able to do either.

Because he didn't have any feelings to hurt or manipulate.

He had the potential to regain them…but not with the same innocence and sincerity as before. The last thing I wanted was for him to end up like me—

But that was what'd happened in the end, anyway.

He _should_ hate me.

It would make sense if he didn't.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Madara removed his ear from the outer side of the door and grinned—oh, but not to himself. He smirked and looked to the ceiling. "Sounds like they're finally working things out. Even _we_ weren't that bad, were we, Nii-san?"

_A/N: pinches bridge of nose and tries to pretend that Sasuke wasn't horrifically OOC in the last part_


	6. Brothers

"Sasuke? Sasuke! You in there?"

I didn't answer, resolutely keeping my eyes on the darkness surrounding me; neither did I bother to unlock the door or pay any more heed to the racket my team had been causing for the past four days.

Four days. Four days since I'd…ugh.

Suigetsu's voice didn't fade away into a nice, appreciative quiet like Jugo's did, nor did his eventually form a sigh and walk away like Karin's. Oh no. Of course not.

Suigetsu's voice kept a permanent barrage at whatever room I chose to solemnly contemplate in for the day.

"If you're in there—which you must be, since Karin was sitting here about an hour ago," he called, "You'd better stop with the sulking and get the hell out."

I wasn't sulking. I was solemnly contemplating.

"Don't ya think this is taking some healthy sibling rivalry a little too far? Eh, Sasuke?"

In spite of myself, I nearly spat out a derisive laugh. Healthy? Had he just called this mini soap-opera feud between Itachi and I, sibling rivalry? On top of that, he deemed it healthy?

The water must've gotten into his ears again.

"C'mon," he was whining now. "If you come out, I'll let you have top."

At that, I had to open the door. His face brightened into one of his infamous sharp-toothed grins. I massaged the bridge of my nose.

"Need I remind you where we currently are? I'd appreciate it if you didn't shout these sort of—"

"So you finally decided to stop moping, huh? I knew that'd get you out of there," he snickered. "Karin owes me 300 yen." He punched the air.

I slammed the door in his face.

After promptly relocking the room, and returning to my position on the stone ledge, teetering my sword on my wrist—out of boredom—I closed my eyes and tried to will everything away. Will away the fact that four days ago, I thoroughly eradicated every trace of my dignity directly before the man whose very dignity I sought to mutilate—along with a handful of organs.

Not only that, I also told the man that I hated him and most likely turned the unconditional love he had for me into hate.

Oh, but it didn't stop there. I had to reveal my true feelings—feelings that apparently I hadn't even known had survived my emotional reprogramming (else I would have indeed reprogrammed them) and then proceed to shed tears in a manner that could only be described as dramatically pathetic. Or pathetically dramatic. Either way.

And of course, I had to go even further by practically sprinting out of the room with a speed that was reserved for nothing other than battles and chases.

It didn't contribute to the cause at all that this man was my brother.

I folded one knee across the ledge, balancing my sword on that instead. I didn't know how much longer I could hole myself up in here. Madara hadn't yet joined my team in convincing me to come out—though I knew that when he did, he'd make exceptional use of phrases with the word "coward" as the subject.

I didn't know exactly how and when I would stop sulking—I admit it. I'd probably try to hold it out for as long as I could, and fabricate some excuse when I thought it'd gone on long enough.

"Sasuke," Suigetsu drawled, long and loud. "This is pissing me off."

I ignored him.

"I'm serious—you're pissing me off."

Still, I didn't reply.

"If you're not coming out, I'm breaking that door down."

No answer.

"And you'll have to pay for it."

A small price to pay.

"Even if I have to drag you out of there kicking and screaming."

Try me.

"Aw, c'mon, Sasuke," he pleaded. "You're makin' me sound like a fuckin' Academy teacher. I'm countin' to ten."

One.

"One."

Two.

"Two…"

Three.

"Ten."

I looked down. Water had pooled around my feet—a puddle shallow enough not to reach my toes, but large enough for me to recognize whom it was.

Suigetsu reformed before me, shaking the droplets out of his hair. "That was no fun at all. I was looking forward to the kicking and screaming."

"Leave," I ordered.

"Nope. Don't think I will." He stretched his arms out, grinning at me, and casually walked to the stone ledge I'd been residing on for the past five hours. He lay down, yawning, as if it were his own bed. "Nighty night, Sasuke."

"It's half an hour after noon."

"Well, I figured that I might as well camp out as long as you decide you're stayin' in here."

I sighed. "You have work to do."

"So do you."

"What work?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe somethin' by the name of Itachi?"

I wheeled around and headed toward the darkest corner, all the way across the room. I folded myself as tightly as possible and set to wait until Suigetsu was either hungry, or became completely bored and left to annoy Kisame.

Unfortunately, that meant an extremely long wait.

I wasn't trying to deny that he didn't get hungry often, or lost interest in things quickly—I just knew him enough to know that, although he had five too many irritatingly inconvenient quirks, his stubbornness overrode them all.

Sometime…about…perhaps six hours into the wait that I thought would take all night and then some, I fell asleep, and I was sure Suigetsu had too.

Three hours from that point, scuffling up and down the hall, and persistent shouting woke up the both of us.

"Hell's that?" Suigetsu mumbled sleepily, grabbing his sword out of instinct—or habit.

I uncurled myself and stood up, pressing my ear to the door crack to listen. Karin's voice was the loudest—expected—though Kisame's wasn't a far cry from that. Madara's voice and Juugo's were calmingly breaking through the onslaught of angry yells. And then Zetsu's twin voices broke the after-silence.

They were discussing Itachi. Apparently, something had happened to him, but what exactly, no one mentioned.

Nothing. That was what I'd expected to feel.

Instead…I felt everything.

Worry, pain, anger, sadness, anxiety, curiosity, need…every useless emotion that I'd reduced into a single black box in my mind…a box that I'd locked…they all came exploding out.

This wouldn't do at all. I couldn't face any of them with any expression on my face. Not after the last time. Something like that I'd never risk happening again.

Suigetsu yawned and loped to my side, hand on his hip. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of my leaning against the door. "Yeah…or you could do this." He grasped the knob and opened the door, allowing the lighting to flood into the dark room.

Karin turned—everyone else had clearly gone elsewhere. "Where the HELL have you been?" she directed at Suigetsu. "Juugo and I thought you were looking for Sasuke. Again."

"Shut up," he said promptly. "I was. And unless those glasses o' yours need a check, he's right here. Unlike someone, _I_ was successful."

"Fuck off," she snapped. She glanced at me warily.

"Why all the noise?" I inquired indifferently, crossing my arms.

The wariness in her eyes increased. "Um…there was an attack."

"Where?"

"At the entrance."

"By whom?"

Karin hesitated. "The…ANBU."

"How many squads?"

"Ten."

"Then why are you still here?"

"I…Madara told me to stay and wait for you and Suigetsu. Someone has to tell you two the situation."

"Karin."

"Yes?" She bit her lip as Suigetsu snorted.

"We could go on and on like this for the entire night. Now, tell me the real reason before I go mad."

"Alright," she relented glumly. "I'm going to lose my head for this, but…Itachi's…er…throwing…"

"Throwing?" My eyes narrowed. "Throwing what? He couldn't possibly escape in his condition."

"No, not that kind of throwing." She shifted her weight from either foot. "He's sort of…throwing up. Blood. Lots of it. Unstoppably."

I stared at her. Suigetsu blinked. "Why?"

She glared at him. "How should I know? Madara said something about Itachi fooling around with the IVs and whatnot so the medicine would leak out. If this went on without us noticing, he'd probably die in about a week."

It'd been a long while since the word associated with eternal sleep had made my heart pound until my chest actually hurt.

"Why?"

Suigetsu and Karin directed surprised eyes at me. My mouth tightened subconsciously. I couldn't believe that'd been my voice just then. Inside my mouth, my teeth dug into my lip.

The two exchanged glances warier still. "Er…" Karin looked determinedly at the wall lamp to the left of my head. "You should…er…"

"Just go the hell and see him," Suigetsu finished bluntly. "He's your brother for fuck's sakes. I got cheated out on my kicking and screaming, so if you don't go, I'll drag you to make up for earlier."

I nearly smiled. "No. I don't think you will." I lifted a hand as I walked down the hall, away from my teammates, who seemed to be in a state of shock.

Of course, Madara was the one tending to Itachi, whilst Kisame, Zetsu and surprisingly, Juugo were outside of the room.

The latter looked relieved to see me emerge from my four days of solitary brooding. After all, Juugo was my brooding companion. "Sasuke…" He gestured nervously at the open doorway. I peered inside. It was empty. The bed was empty—albeit ruffled and rumpled—and the hookups and tubes unplugged.

There were splotches of blood leading in a path toward where the back washroom was. Abruptly, a masked figure surfaced from the dimness. Madara's normally spotless black clothes were stained with what could only be blood. I heard the faint sound of running water and retching.

Ignoring me completely, Zetsu asked, "Well?"

"He'll live." From Madara's tone, I knew he had to be rolling his eyes. "Stubborn boys like him live whether they want to or not."

I winced inwardly. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Well. It looks like you've finally decided to come back from the netherworld. How was Hades?"

"Fine, thanks," I said icily. "I'm going to see him."

"Why?" Madara called when I was halfway in the room. "To mangle his insides again? To tell him how much you utterly despise him? To—"

"Shut up," I shouted, without looking back. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door in as hard as I could, pressing in the lock.

Scowling to myself, I avoided the miniature puddles of red as I made my way towards the washroom.

The steam served as a convenient fog for him to hide in; nevertheless, I found him draped limply over the stone basin—shirtless, and soaking wet.

Blood idly dripped down either side of his mouth and into the basin. I noted that his eyes were once again covered.

He stirred when he sensed me kneel beside him. Itachi shifted his gaze at me, the saturated strands of hair falling over his eye-bandages. "You look…pale, Sasuke," he managed to breathe out. "Have you been outside at all?"

I resisted the impulse to punch him. Again. He was doing it. _Again. _

Why was I not at all surprised?

But my brooding hadn't only been sulking. I really had contemplated, and the results weren't utterly futile. I'd come up with one or two epiphanies.

"How come you secretly stopped the flow of medicines?" I asked, pulling one of the white towels out of their shelf and holding it out to him, knowing he could sense it—taking away one of a ninja's senses rarely did anything to hinder him.

He didn't accept it, merely tensing to such a point that his throat muscles visibly contracted. "There was no need for Madara to continue wasting resources on me."

I already knew where this line of thinking would go, but I had to keep talking—keep him talking.

Forcing myself not to flinch or hesitate, I shook out the towel and loosely tossed it over his shoulders.

"Madara wouldn't waste anything on anyone. If he's treating you, it clearly means he knows you are still of use." As my hands sort of hovered—uselessly at that—over him, I made a mental note to have Karin sew pockets into my pants. This was just too awkward. In a strange, demented way, that must signify I was going mad, I wanted to…help him. Dry his hair for him. Clean him up. Other stupid small things.

I chalked it down to four days without sunlight.

Itachi didn't speak. His body jolted violently, and his hands reflexively grasped the sides of the basin, head thrown down. The blood splashed against the stone with an ungainly splash. The towel slid off his back, and his hair dipped into the basin as he surfaced, coughing specks of red.

I swallowed. Why did people even want to keep their emotions? They caused you to feel four-years-old again. "Are…you okay?" Had I not known any better, I would have denied that was even my voice speaking.

He didn't move, nor did he speak. My…brother was stiller than a statue. If he would only take off the bandages, I would be able to see his eyes—read into what he could be thinking. His mouth was slightly open, breathing mutedly, as if afraid to make any sound.

Part of me was glad he couldn't see—couldn't see my arms shaking as I lifted my hands toward him. "We should get the blood out before it dries," I muttered, towel in one hands, strands of his blood-soaked hair in the other.

His body was now painfully rigid. I didn't know if the not-speaking thing was good or bad. It could very well be possible that he hated me. Fine. I didn't care. He was supposed to hate me anyway. I didn't care.

Did I?

"I was worried."

I blinked, midway through the task of drying out the blood from his hair. "Excuse me?"

Itachi smiled bitterly. "I was worried. I heard them shouting about finding you, or that you were lost. So I stopped the medicines. I'd thought that you either wanted me dead, but didn't want to kill an injured person, so you left—but if I simply died of injury you'd return; or if you heard the commotion you'd come out and see what was wrong. But I didn't think you'd…actually come. Approach me."

I wasn't about to strike out and run like a little coward this time. I'd turn it until it was agonizingly awkward for _him_. Though, I'd have a hard time doing that. "How come?" I asked nonchalantly. I threw the now red-white towel into the wicker basket for washing, and picked up another towel and replaced it over his shoulders.

His smile remained, but it was a broken smile—an empty one. "You hate me." It was simply stated, with no garnishing, no disguises.

Did I? Did I really hate him? I was even beginning to question if I'd ever hated him at all. Now that I thought about it—wit h a rational head—it seemed less like hatred and more like disappointment. Disappointed that he hadn't taken me with him—that he'd abandoned me. Besides…had I really cared for our mother and father that much?

No. The answer was no. I hadn't.

Or maybe I had, but not anymore. They'd been as corrupt as the Konoha elders who had ordered Itachi to commit the crime in the first place.

Maybe…just maybe…it wasn't Itachi's fault.

It was Konoha's.

But at the moment, that was beside the point. The point was that Itachi was wounded, sick—all of this because I was too stupid, too occupied in myself to just notice that there was more to him than just the surface. Something I'd accused numerous people of doing, but at the same time, doing it myself.

The hypocrisy ended now.

"Can you stand?" I asked.

He didn't respond at first—another shocked silence. "I should stay in the washroom. My body isn't done yet." Itachi gestured to the basin.

"You're wet. You'll catch a fever." I grasped his forearm, and felt him still beneath my grip.

"I'll move in an hour or so," he said simply. "I think it's finishing, anyway." He yanked out of my hold to let another round loose, the sound of thick liquid splattering against the basin bottom.

I stared at him for another moment, and then carefully slid my hand onto his forehead. The quietness that immediately fell was so dense, I could have sliced it in half with my sword.

"I told you," I stood up. "You have a fever. I'll ask Madara if he has any more sedatives."

I filled a glass of water and slowly—gently—took his hand, wrapping his damp fingers around the cup. "Drink. It'll help."

He was still frozen as I walked out.

* * *

Sorry I haven't updated in eternity, but hopefully this nice long chapter will make up for it. If not, I shall pass around a basket of brownies. But I'll be updating quicker now that the plot bunnies have returned to me.


	7. Hate

Chapter Eight: Stress

"You want us to look after your brother?" Karin folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. "In shifts? Why? Thought you were going to finish him off."

The look I gave her not only served to silence her, but cause her to shrink back slightly. "Shifts. Sure. Great. Yeah."

"Juugo, you can take the first one," I said. "I'll call you in after Suigetsu and I get him dried and into bed, hopefully, without drenching the entire room in blood."

He nodded. "Yeah."

Suigetsu yawned loudly, tossing his sword against the hall floor. "Coming." He fell in step with me as I handed him the medicines I'd taken from Madara's stash. It wasn't considered stealing, really. We were from the same clan, so would technically, everything that belonged to him belong to me?

Well, either way.

Itachi was as I'd left him. The glass I'd given to him was empty, standing beside the sink, some blood around its rim. He wasn't leaning against anything anymore, and he visibly tensed, acknowledging that he heard my entrance.

"Hell," Suigetsu knelt opposite him. "You look like shit."

I shot him a Look. He shrugged, half-pouting. "Well, he does."

Itachi smiled sardonically. "I agree, although I haven't looked in a mirror for about three days."

I kneeled beside Suigetsu. "I've medicine. Can you take it without…backing it up? Have you eaten anything in the past few hours?"

Itachi frowned slightly—for what reason, I didn't know, although now, I was sure it was something trivial that could be looked over. He wasn't as pale as he'd been…but he'd mentioned about how spontaneous the vomiting episodes were.

"Of course I can." He sounded infinitesimally miffed, and for a split nanosecond, we were back in Konoha—I was seven and he was thirteen, and he was shaking his head after I'd sprained my ankle, only to smile exasperatedly and offer to carry me back.

And then, all too soon, I was fifteen again, and he was twenty, and reality splashed us both awake.

He was retching again in that nanosecond that was spent. Suigetsu's eyes popped open and—though I think he _meant_ to reassure Itachi—slapped my brother's back and shouted, "Holy fuck!"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, and focused on Itachi. He pulled himself slowly out of the basin and threw his head back, propping it limply on the edge of the tub. "It's full. The basin needs to be emptied."

"Empty the basin, Suigetsu," I ordered casually.

He wrinkled his nose, but nonetheless hoisted it out of its metal holder and dragged it outside to dump it into a drain—we couldn't just toss blood outside, when there were a herd of nin-dogs probably searching for us.

"If you can keep the medicine down for at least two hours, you won't throw up anymore—at least not until it runs out," I explained, unscrewing the cap from the medicine bottle.

"I'll keep it down," he said quietly.

I nodded, exhaling shakily. "Yeah…how come Madara told you…to put the bandages over your eyes again?"

"To save the time I have left. Extended use on them…I'll go blind in half a year—even just regularly, excluding the Mangekyou and any other Sharingan."

"Six months," I whispered to myself thoughtfully. "If you didn't use them…left the blindfold like this…what would happen? How long would you have then?"

His face turned my direction. "I should guess…perhaps a year."

"Not very long, then."

"No," he agreed. "Not long at all. I assume you understand what this means?"

I frowned. "No. I'm afraid I don't. Do enlighten me."

When he spoke—which wasn't until a few minutes after—his voice was barely audible, turned down to a murmur. "You need to take my eyes before they expire. Before the limit is done."

I'd never before intentionally assaulted an injured man, woman, or child—especially not while they were recuperating. I never had any intentions of doing so in the future. But clearly, my brother was determined to break that honorable streak. In fact, he might be out to destroy everything. I wouldn't be surprised.

My punch had sent him staggering, side hitting the slick, tiled floor with a cavernous slam. The blood pooled at the corner of his forehead, soaking into the roots of his hair—red on black. He straightened with a painfully slow effort, his face towards the ground, blood streaming from his mouth. It wasn't long before the stream thickened and turned into a flood, washing out onto the tiles.

If Suigetsu didn't come back with the basin in the next three seconds, he'd be spending the next seven nights outside.

I knew all too well now that Itachi wasn't about to verbally lash out at me, let alone, strike back physically—even if he could. But as I attempted to ignore the coughing sounds, the gasping…it was as if my conscience (you know, the one I thought I'd gotten rid of) struck me back for him. A blow stronger that Itachi himself would've been able to administer, the guilt dug into my stomach, clawing at me, until I found my hand around his bare, fevered shoulder, and my other catching the blood-vomit that was pouring out.

"You deserved this one," I defended myself, which made me seem like more of an idiotic imbecile, since no one was accusing me anything in the first place.

"How come?" he asked hoarsely, yet the amusement was evident in his voice—the sort of amusement only a doting older brother could have for his younger brother.

"Because I'll push Madara off a cliff before I let you have the chance to request that he perform a transaction of that sort. And don't talk—at least not until Suigetsu comes back from wherever the hell he went."

Itachi only smiled—simple amusement for him, spiraling worry for me.

I sighed shakily, just noticing that my heart beat was threatening to send the vital organ through my chest and pulsing on the ground.

"I've gotten blood all over you," he mentioned indifferently, plucking at the sleeve of my shirt.

"It's not as if it'd be the first time," I said.

He froze, utterly stilling to a point where I felt his muscles contract beneath my hands. They were tightening, and he was wounding up, which wasn't good because 1) he'd throw up again since his body wasn't up to handling the strain and 2) the guilt was preparing to sock me in the ribs again.

"Never mind," I amended. "I…it wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?"

"No."

He exhaled swiftly. "Who's then?"

"Konoha's," I answered promptly. "Uchiha's. You name it—take your pick. Either one, but I'd say both. I know you love both of them, but they were both wrong to make you do that."

He shook his head, coughing slightly. "And why is that?" Again, he sounded like only an older brother could—doting and doubtful.

The thing was…I wasn't just his younger brother anymore.

I was so much more.

"Because if Konoha or Uchiha had had any sense in their members at all…then they wouldn't have taken advantage of someone like you—who'd probably sacrifice, and has, more than any of the rest of them ever would."

He stared—I assumed he stared—at me for about another three minutes before slumping back against the tub, body limp. "You shouldn't say that."

"Why? Because it's true? It is. You know it is. It's time you stop being ridiculously absurd and take what you're due—what you deserve. You've given up and given the village more than any of the Hokage ever did."

Itachi held a hand over his already covered eyes. "I'm terrible."

"If you say anything like that one more time, I swear I'll punch you again."

"Go ahead."

"What is _wrong_ with you?" I asked calmly.

"I'm a man who's caused his own brother to hate him—and if our clan were still alive, they'd hate me to. I know that Konoha hates me—that one's a given."

"Konoha is an overrated village that'll be taken down one way or another—whether by other villages or Akatsuki." My voice was flawlessly indifferent. "Our clan was corrupt."

"And you?"

I was a step away from saying something, but my mouth resulted in simply hanging there, open and empty.

"Sasuke?"

"I…" I closed my eyes, sighed, and then reopened them. "I don't hate you. How could you hate someone who's lived their entire life for you? Not just that…how could you hate your own brother?"

His lips twisted into a wry smile. "I wouldn't know, would I?"

"You wouldn't." I looked him over—his fever seemed to be getting out of control, his face was flushed, and even his body was too warm…his breathing also seemed labored. And at this rate, if we continued to stay in the steamed washroom, I'd get a fever—or at least a cold—as well.

"Come on," I stood up. "You need to get out of here. The blood is stopping, and there's medicine. You said you could keep it down, right?"

I slung his arm around my neck and heaved us both up. He felt like he'd lost weight—which wouldn't have been uncalled for at all. I mean…he'd been fed from IVs for the past two weeks.

He said nothing as I gently brought him to the bed, helping him onto it. Even without seeing his eyes I could sense how tired he was. "You should sleep," I said. "Just let me go get Suigetsu and Karin and then I'll let you sleep—you've to take medicine first."

I turned around slowly and crossed the room, heading for the door.


	8. Desperate

The darkness didn't make it any easier to listen to my brother. How was I expected to sleep? After hearing that he didn't hate me—or maybe even, that he'd never hated me.

But now…it'd be even harder on him when I went blind…harder on him when my body gave way to the illness that had been consuming me since these eyes had begun taking their toll…

My forehead throbbed from when it'd slammed against the tiles. I touched the corner and felt the blood still wet—but it was thickening slowly…drying.

I knew why he'd punched me, of course. I knew him too well to simply put it down to anger. He was frustrated. He couldn't see why I'd give in—give up—to the fate of going blind. And because of that, he refused to accept my last gift to him—my eyes, and the eternal sight and Mangekyou that came with them.

I needed to come up with a plan that would undoubtedly work—even if it involved coercing him to take the eyes and let me die.

And all these problems wouldn't even exist had I died the day I was supposed to. Sasuke wouldn't have to deal with this and I'd be long gone. But even my body wouldn't cooperate.

No. Moping was absurd. It would get me nowhere. I lifted the hair that I felt had fallen over my covered eyes and yanked them back. I should get it cut. It'd been soaked in more blood than water.

I paused when I heard footsteps. They weren't Sasuke's footsteps. They were…quieter, but denser. Juugo? I waited for a voice. The charka felt unstable, meaning I was close to certain it was Juugo.

My assumption was confirmed true when the deep, hesitant voice reverberated in my ears—it sounded like he was standing in front of me, near the bed.

"Sasuke's arguing with Madara," he said quietly. There was a soft clang, and I was pretty sure he was putting something down on the side table.

I raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"I think he's threatening Madara in order to make sure that—in the case you ask—Madara won't perform the operation to remove your eyes."

I tried not to smile. Even now my little brother's antics to get what he wanted—what he thought was best—didn't fail to amuse me. Although, at times they did sadden me. I just wasn't worth that much.

"He's mad at you," Juugo informed simply.

"Madara?"

"Sasuke." There was a rustle of fabric—he'd most likely crossed his arms. "He's doesn't like it when you're hurt—especially if you are the cause of those injuries. If, when he was still obsessed with revenge, honestly didn't care what happened to you, he wouldn't have spent that much of his life searching for you. The one who does not care neither acknowledges nor pursues."

"I've never heard you express such opinion," I said dryly—an attempt in hiding my appreciation.

"I…" he sounded quiet again. "It's true. I didn't want to intervene. But it's frustrating to be a bystander—just as it is to be the ones working the problem out."

This generation was as amusing as they were naïve. I half smiled. "Tell me, then. Why is it frustrating to watch?"

I could tell he'd heard the thinly hidden sarcasm in my voice. "I haven't known Sasuke long. But for the time I have known him, he's not shown a single human emotion. Until now."

I shook my head, still smiling. "I was the person who killed those emotions. Now I'm the person that's resurrecting them. Inevitably, I'm going to kill them again—and this time, it's not even going to be voluntary."

Juugo didn't respond. I merely heard more clattering and rearranging of what sounded like glass bottles, before his footsteps faded. Barely a minute passed between the fading steps and new ones—familiar ones.

"Sasuke?" I murmured, oddly relaxed.

"You're forbidden to speak to Madara until he stops being unreasonable and imbecilic," he responded bluntly, angrily clattering something against the tray Juugo brought in.

"Since when does the younger brother order the elder?"

"Since now." I felt his body heat draw nearer, and a strange, sickening scent wafted around my nose. My chest was tight with the smell—I was afraid I'd start vomiting again.

His hand curled around mine, opening the fingers and wrapping them around a stone cup. It was heavy, a good deal of liquid inside it—the same liquid that was emitting that terrible smell.

"Drink all of it," I heard him say.

I considered it a God-send that I couldn't see the putrid medicine—I might've started hurling again. I could only wish that my sense of smell had been rendered useless, too.

And so, drink it I did.

The taste was worse than the stench. But I was someone who'd swallowed and thrown up and re-swallowed his own blood and other…such things. I could stand the taste. But my body spoke for itself.

The coughing wore my throat raw. It was closer to dry gagging than coughing. My body needed to heave something up, but it'd already spent everything. You couldn't throw up successfully on an empty stomach.

His hands were instantly on me, securing my frame, controlling the wracking movements of my body.

"You'll be fine," I heard his stoic voice say. "I won't let you be otherwise."

The blood scratched at my throat, filling my mouth with the familiar taste of salt and iron. I let it drain through my lips, onto the floor—hearing the splattering of liquid against stone. I coughed out the remnants of whatever was still in my mouth, and took a breath slowly.

"Finished?"

I nodded, staying as still as possible, and then I felt fabric touch my skin, "You'll get worse if you stay like that," he was saying so quietly I couldn't hear him. "Put it on." I tangled blindly for a moment with what he gave me, before managing to pull it onto my torso.

"Thank you." Behind the bandages, I blinked. Those were the words that I was about to speak to him. Why he spoke them to me, there was no reason. Thanking me for what?

I felt something else touch my lips. Something hard and sweet-smelling and curved. "It'll help you sleep," he whispered. His voice sounded agonized. "Eat it. Please." There was an edge of desperation to his tone. I parted my lips and let the pill fall onto my tongue. He placed a glass into my hands, and I drained the medicine down with water.

The bright lights that seeped through my bandages were dimmed until they resembled shadows, and one of his hands pushed me down hesitantly. I lowered my body, stopping when I reached the bed. The medicine was nearly instantaneous. A dull numbness was washing over my body from toe to head, I couldn't feel anything…weightless…and yet heavy at the same time…there was no longer a pain in my chest…just…nothing…

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A/N: Sorry this was such a short chapter. Itachi's POV chapters kind of have to be short, unless you want, like, ten pages of blood, and vomit, and fevers, and blackouts, and more blood and vomit. After all, this fic is essentially about Sasuke. Brownies to the first review that states the right reason why Sasuke sounded so "desperate" to get Itachi that sleeping pill.


	9. Regret

_A/N: I know it's short, but it was sort of a contemplating chapter, since nothing actually happens in it. Sad to say, but we're getting close to the end! Can ANYONE at ALL guess what Sasuke's "plan" is? It was mentioned in the first chapter and no one has attempted to guess. Is it really that vague or maybe I'm just bad a foreshadowing, lol._

* * *

I didn't know why it hurt. I didn't know exactly, precisely why I wanted his wracking coughs and vomiting to end and for him to just sleep and quiet. But I couldn't handle the ache in my chest every time he coughed. Every single time he was jerked forward by the unbearable pressuring pain, it felt like the same pain was being echoed in my own body.

So, I stopped it the only way I could. By forcing the pill onto him, and assuring he was asleep. It was the strongest one I could find, and accordingly, he was knocked out in a matter of seconds.

I stared at his unconscious face—expressionless and calm. I didn't like this. I didn't want to care about him this much. It would tear out at me again if something ever happened. It made me vulnerable—something I had worked in sweat and blood to assure I never was.

There was a small knock on the door and Karin was leaning against the frame. She raised an eyebrow. "The shift?" she asked quietly. I nodded once and motioned her to enter. I continued to stare at his face as the click and clack of her boots sounded nearer. He was too thin. If he continued to be fed from tubes…the ending result wouldn't turn out well.

My hand outstretched itself toward his shoulder instinctively. I froze. Karin was in the room. Immediately, I recoiled the mutinous limb. His breathing was even enough—it had a shuddery edge to it, but it was better than the violent coughing fits that had just occurred.

Karin stood beside me and sighed. "It's such a waste he's going to go blind. He's so hot."

I didn't hear anything beyond the word "blind", and I forced myself not to hear anything beyond that point. Blind. Would he really be? I didn't want to think into that. She was right in some respect. My brother was far too great a ninja to lose his sight. He'd been through so much darkness…in turn for it…would he have to live in darkness all his life? I knew the code. Better a dead ninja than a useless one.

Itachi wouldn't want to be a burden to neither me nor Akatsuki. But I wouldn't have him die. I forbade it. It wouldn't happen. It just couldn't. There was a way. It was possible for Itachi to never go blind, and for his final wish—the final part of his plan—to come true. I knew how to make it happen and I would.

As soon as Karin retreated into the bathroom to mop up the puddles and bloodstains, I cupped my brother's head, brushing the strands of hair back carefully, thumb brushing over the thin veil of eyelids.

I would make his last wish—the wish he'd wanted to fulfill before he died—to come true, even if in a different connotation. It was all I could give him, and even that wasn't enough to suffice in repayment for what he'd given me.

What I wouldn't give to go back to that last night so many years before.


End file.
